Savior
by WhoNeedsNormality
Summary: I know I'll regret it, but a tiny voice inside my head tells me to go on towards him. He needs something, a wake up call... {Phan}


He's been quiet for days.

I haven't heard a word.

It scares me.

I normally like giving him privacy but I haven't seen his face or heard his voice in days. If he ever leaves his room to use the bathroom or get food, he does it when I'm asleep.

I don't want him living like this anymore, I have to help him.

He saved me.

I open his door, and as my ears hear the creak, my heart thuds in my chest, my knees weak, my palms sweaty as if I'm in an Eminem song.

As the door opens, I slowly step inside, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

He's on his bed, facing the wall. I'm sure he heard me coming in but he doesn't acknowledge me at all.

His arms are not wrapped around his legs in the fetal position, as I expected. He is slumped over, one leg next to him, the other on the ground, staring at the wall.

Not making a sound.

I know I'll regret it, but a tiny voice inside my head tells me to go on towards him.

He needs something, a wake up call...

I walk towards him, whole body shaking, wanting so badly to run back out and go back to minding my own business.

But there is no backing out now.

Suddenly I'm there, mere inches away from him, at his bedside.

My mouth is dry. I moisten it, and whisper his name.

"Dan..."

He doesn't answer. Doesn't even move an inch.

I clear my throat and say it again, louder.

"Dan."

He still doesn't reply, or look at me, but he shrugs his shoulders, giving the faintest sign he heard me. I sighed a bit in relief.

Then I ask the question. The fatal question.

"Are you okay?"

Suddenly, without hesitation, he lets out a laugh. A harsh, dry laugh with no humour. A laugh that breaks my heart, because I can tell he's broken.

"I'm fucking fantastic," he says, in the same harsh, cold voice. Still doesn't look at me.

I know what I have to do.

He saved me long ago. I never really told him but he did.

Now I have to save him.

I climb onto the bed, gently, and move up so I'm beside him. Hands shaking, I put one on his shoulder. I try to look at him but his eyes are dead, staring at the ground, they won't make contact with mine.

"Please...look at me."

He slowly lifts them upward, and looks into mine, the familiar chocolate brown locking with my own blue. But his eyes are still dead, without life, or happiness.

Then he speaks. His voice cracks a bit, sounding as though he's been doing nothing but crying lately. His eyes are dry though so it must have been earlier.

"What the hell do you want me to say?" he asks rhetorically, under his breath. Then looks away again.

My heart breaks even more.

He's dead inside, truly. I hate it.

I miss him.

"I know things have been hard," I start, my voice weak and reluctant, "but...you have people who care for you."

He laughs again, cold, dry and humourless. "Who the bloody hell cares about me?"

My mouth drops open, but I regain myself. "A lot of people. Me, PJ, Chris, Cat, Louise...so many people, not to mention your fans."

He doesn't answer. He obviously knows he can't argue.

Then he does speak. "If they care, why aren't they here?"

"They want to be there for you, Dan," I say, starting to anger. "They've called me and texted me a ton of times saying you wouldn't answer your phone, they all have asked me if you were okay. They're worried about you. And what about me? I'm here. I'm trying to help you, I hate that you're living like this, you deserve better. And I...miss you..." my voice trails off, as I begin to tear up, but I fight it. Can't let him see me cry, I'm supposed to be the strong one.

He is silent for a long time.

"I've just been thinking. It's all pointless. We're all gonna die someday and everything we tried to do will be in vain. It's all fucking pointless. Sure there are people who say they care, but they just end up leaving, that's all that ever happens. It's damn pointless, so why the hell are you even trying, Phil!?" he yells, tears starting to run down his face.

I'm shocked by what I hear. I know he has depression and sometimes goes through something called an existential crisis, but I never thought his mind was so dark... it hurts, because I've been there for him. For over four years I've been by his side, I never left. Never even thought of it. All the bad times were worth it for not only the good, but just the feeling, knowing he was there. I would never leave.

But I know it isn't him talking. It's his anguish, depression, maybe the alcohol he's been consuming. I don't know if he has been, but it smells like it. Perhaps he has left the house.

I simply can't reply. My mouth is dry again, my mind racing with too many thoughts to comprehend. But I know he feels even worse.

I can feel him breaking.

And suddenly he shatters.

The tears flow like a waterfall, as he wails in anguish.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he screams, sobbing openly. "I can't believe myself! What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm sorry...I'm sorry..."

I can feel him falling. I instinctively open my arms. He falls into my embrace, clutching me as tightly as possible, scared to let me go. He doesn't give a shit what's happening, and neither do I. I just hug him closer, rubbing his back. Not trying to say anything, just holding him, supporting him. I need to be there.

"I'm sorry, Phil," he whispers, looking up at me with eyes that were filled with regret and sadness, but slowly, life was returning to them. He had finally cracked, shown emotion. It was a good thing.

"It's okay," I whisper, "Don't worry. It's okay. Just breathe."

He buries himself in my arms again, slowly catching his breath, his sobs reducing to slight gasps.

I decide to speak. "I would never leave you. I've been by your side for years. And I haven't regretted one moment of it. You fill my life with something I never had before...a purpose. Things were alright before, but you...you changed me, for the better. I care about you more than you'll ever know..."

He looks up at me in disbelief. He shakes his head. "No way...I haven't done shit. You...you...you're everything..." his voice shakes, his breath is short and ragged, as if he's on the verge of a panic attack, but he is slowly calming down.

Finally, he lets go, leans back, and I let him go too.

"Everything I said is true," I say to him.

He stares at the ground for a minute, and then whispers, "Thank you."

I sigh in relief. The man I used to know is returning, slowly, but surely. It worked. I broke through his walls for a second time.

"No problem," I reply.

"For everything. You saved me...twice. Before you I had no one to call my best friend. No one to turn to when I felt like shit. I had to suffer alone. But you're here now. You never gave up on me no matter how much of a douchebag I was, no matter how bad I treated you. Fuck, I wouldn't survive without you...I love you."

I don't shy away at his use of the three words. Love isn't just a romantic feeling. It's a feeling of needing someone, caring so deeply about someone you would do things for them you wouldn't do otherwise. It's a feeling of gratefulness, content, happiness. If he means it in more than a best friend way, then fine. I'm alright with that. I might even reciprocate. But all that matters is that I know he loves me and I love him. It doesn't matter in what context.

He wraps his arms around me again, and rests his head on my shoulder. Someone else might have been uncomfortable, but I am content. "Thank you for saving me..." he whispers.

I only answer, "Thank you for saving me."

We are each other's savior.


End file.
